Blood Loss and Bendy Straws
by A. Windsor
Summary: Two years-ish after Impulse. From a prompt on Tumblr: "Nyssa or Sara gets injured, and Nyssa especially worries about one of them dying early like her mother now that they have a kid."


"Didn't you _think_?" Sara had asked. "Didn't you think about what would happen to me and Damian?" Her eyes had been wide and even a little wet, with worry and fear and anger. "About what we would have to do to survive without you? About what we'd become!"  
She didn't give Nyssa a chance to answer, issued a brusque order to Sar'ab and turned heel, leaving Nyssa bedridden from the blood loss. She wouldn't have liked the answer anyway.  
Because Nyssa hadn't thought about that. She's never thought about that, actually. She's spent quite a bit of time, on long flights and on quiet evenings when she rocked a fussy Damian back to sleep, thinking about the opposite outcome: Sara being taken from them.  
She's spent countless hours planning how to prevent it, and _worrying_. Worrying about what she would become if that happened. Worrying that in Sara's absence she would transform into something rage- and hate-filled. Or something hollow, like her father. Worrying if Damian would then have to live an echo of her own childhood, and wanting to do whatever she could to save him from that.  
But if she had succumbed to the blood loss in the field… Well, no wonder the idea terrified Sara, and not simply because of her Beloved's own feelings for her.  
Her death (were it to stick…) would leave a power vacuum. Her father had already named Damian as second in line behind her, but he was a mere toddler. He would become an even greater target, even more vulnerable. Those who coveted his position would come for him, and killing Taer al-Asfer to get him would only strengthen their cause. Even if Sara and Damian managed to survive, it would make them hard and guarded. In her absence, her father would step in earlier to more firmly guide Damian's upbringing. Sara's chances of ever seeing her family in Starling again would be… none.  
Sara certainly had every right to give her that look.  
"Do you require the healer, My Lady?" Sar'ab asks.  
Ah, she must have let that grimace show.  
"No. Thank you."  
"Do you require a drink?"  
Nyssa cuts her eyes to him, and he is almost smirking.  
"I too had a wife and son, once. In another life."  
Nyssa nods.  
"I appreciate that you did not obey her order to smother me with my pillow."  
"That would place her and Damian in the same position she was angry about in the first place," Sar'ab points out.  
"Otherwise you'd have done it?"  
Sar'ab shrugs, almost playfully, and Nyssa tries to raise an eyebrow at him, but she's not sure if it works.  
A few minutes pass, she thinks, and then Sar'ab speaks again:  
"If you _were_ to fall in battle, Nyssa, I would do everything in my power to keep them safe."  
She is struck by the sincerity and force behind his oath.  
"Starling City," she says suddenly. "No. Coast City. I will give you the address. Then reach out to Felicity Smoak. She will hide them, and Laurel and the Queens will keep them safe."  
"You have my word."  
"Even if my father orders differently?"  
"Even if the Demon's Head orders differently," he answers immediately, even though she would be well within her rights to kill him for it.  
"Thank you," she says genuinely.  
He nods, turning back to the door and assuming his guard posture once again.  
Some time later, she's not sure when, she drifts off into much-needed, finally restful sleep.

* * *

When she wakes, Nyssa feels much more in control of her body and faculties. The first thing she notices is that she is not alone in the room. The second thing she notices is that Sar'ab is no longer her company.  
Sara sits at the edge of the bed, hand brushing across Nyssa's forehead. Rocket is there, too, licking at her fingers. And judging by the bundle of warmth that is pressing into her side, Damian is there, too.  
"D, be careful; Khala's hurt," Sara tuts, reaching to grab the two-year-old.  
"Leave him," Nyssa requests, and her voice is so hoarse that she must have been asleep for hours.  
Sara pulls her hands back, but returns quickly with a glass of water and one of those neon bendy straws she and Damian favor. Nyssa drinks at her prompting and the water is as cool relief as the tender look in Sara's eyes.  
"I'm sorry I yelled," Sara says softly. As she speaks, Damian crawls up Nyssa's side and slips his head onto her pillow with her. "I was so scared."  
"I know, habibti. You had every right to yell. I have not given it as much consideration as I should have."  
She can't name "it" directly, dying and leaving Sara and Damian alone, the same way, or close enough, that her mother left her. It's cowardice, but Sara knows what she means.  
"But my promise has not changed," Nyssa continues.  
"You'll stick around long enough to see if you start speaking in riddles when you're the Demon's Head?" Sara asks with a gentle grin.  
"Exactly."  
"I know," Sara promises. "This one was just, bad, Nyssa. Really bad."  
Nyssa cannot argue with that. She was mere minutes from bleeding out when the League medic got to her, Sara's face dancing before her hazy, hallucinating eyes, ordering her to hold on.  
"But you're gonna be okay," Sara assures her, leaning over to kiss her forehead.  
"Me too," Damian requests, his breath warm on her cheek.  
"You too, what?" Sara asks leadingly.  
"Kiss," he clarifies, pointing to his forehead with pudgy fingers.  
Sara doesn't move, however, because that wasn't what she was asking. She isn't as strict with manners as Nyssa would like, but she does rigorously enforce please-and-thank-yous for "our princeling".  
"Please," Nyssa whispers in his ear.  
"Oh, kiss, p'ease," Damian nods, jabbing his finger into his forehead again.  
Sara chuckles and leans across to kiss Damian's forehead. She smells wonderful, like sandalwood and sea salt, and of course, home.  
"Thanks," Damian says quickly.  
"You're welcome," Sara smiles.  
Rocket nudges and licks Nyssa's hand again, on the same side as Damian. Her manners leave much to be desired. Nyssa begins to pet her anyway.  
"We should let you rest," Sara says, even as she takes Nyssa's other hand in both of hers, giving her that look so tender and honest, that look that would make Nyssa weak even without the blood loss.  
"Stay," Nyssa breathes.  
"Yes, I stay," the toddler nods, flinging and arm over Nyssa's collarbone.  
Sara grins at the them and nods.  
"Okay. But pushover, you two bed hogs."

fin


End file.
